“I need a tutor,” I spit out.

“I think the campus has a program for that sort of thing,” he adds helpfully.

“Not that kind of tutor.”

He’s staring at me, one eyebrow raised.

“I have money but am lacking in certain life experiences. You, on the other hand, have a wealth of knowledge in those certain life skills.” The words tumble out of my mouth in one long breath. The confused expression deepens on his face. I almost miss that smirk.

“Life skills?” His voice is playful and curious. I take that as a good sign and press on.

“I don’t really know how to interact with people very well,” I confess, already off script.

Damn it.

His inquisitive eyes are throwing me off. There’s something about him that makes me want to confess my deepest secrets even though being near him makes my whole body tense harder than if I was standing on the tracks in front of a runaway freight train.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he retorts.

This guy’s got jokes.

I want to smack him again.

“Ass.” The word slips out, under my breath, before it registers that I’ve said it. I’ve never called someone an ass to their face before. Out of all the times in my life I could speak up, now is the one I pick? With Austin Jacobs! Kill me now. My eyes shoot to his, trying to determine if he heard me.

He did.

Hello, smirk, my old friend. He stifles a chuckle. Suffice to say this isn’t going how I planned.

I’m ready to get this over with and start word-vomiting, butchering the rest of my intricately thought-out speech.

“Look, I’ve heard your football scholarship only covers tuition. Not housing, food or books. And you have to work nights at some awful job that can’t pay much more than minimum wage.” My words wipe the smirk right off his face faster than any slap could. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth drops open. I’ve spooked him a bit, but I keep going anyway.

“You make, what, a grand a month? I’m offering you five times that. I’ll give you five thousand dollars for a month of tutoring me three nights a week.”

He tilts his head, his expression changing from concern to reserved interest at the mention of money. He’s eyeing me with suspicion, tapping his pen on his still-open notebook. He’s thinking about it.

“Tutoring you? In what, exactly?”

I’m relieved he seems to be more curious than creeped out for the moment.

“Teaching me some social skills.”

“Like what? Exactly.” He isn’t going to let me be vague. Subtle innuendo isn’t going to work.

“Like flirting, touching, kissing. Like sex.”

Confusion morphs into something else as his eyes go wide. I’m expecting shock or maybe repulsion. What I see is amusement.

“Did you just proposition me?” His voice is full of teasing. Of all the ways he could react, this is far from the worst. It stings a bit, regardless. He’s laughing at me.